The Silent Land
by LisaT
Summary: SPOILERS FOR END OF S7! Phyllis Crane watches Sister Julienne with the Turners.
1. The Silent Land

**_A/N: Inspred by a comment made by purple-roses-words-and-love on Tumblr. I don't post there (at the moment lurking only) so if you see this you've no idea who I am, but I couldn't get this out of my head re the end of S7:_**

And I can't imagine how [Phyllis] will feel seeing Shelagh and Sister J interact from now on.

 ** _This is what I came up with, although it's not entirely Shulienne. Spoilers, natch, and possibly a tissue warning. I'm one of those hard hearted people who almost never cry at something I read/watch, so I'm not the best judge of tearworthiness!_**

* * *

 **The Silent Land**

* * *

Phyllis Crane was a practical woman. A rational woman, one who was not easily (if at all) moved by such flummeries as emotion or spirituality. If anyone demanded evidence of this, she would point to her long career as a nurse and midwife, her refusal to countenance religion in any form, her abjuration of meat, and her status as a deeply contented spinster. More whimsically she might also point out that she was the only member of Nonnatus House with the good sense to own a car; not for her the frantic pedalling in all weathers from patient to patient endured by the nuns (even Sister Julienne) and the other nurses. No, at her age she'd earned the right to a little comfort and convenience, and she'd give short shrift to anyone who suggested otherwise.

Or so she'd always told herself—and successfully so— until very recently. Until the untimely death of Nurse Barbara Hereward, in fact. Since then her internal monologues had lost something of their customary spice; it was all she could do to power through each day, stiff upper lip resolutely in place. After all, she couldn't support the younger nurses in their grief if she was wallowing herself, and there was always Barbara's devastated widower to consider. Then there was Sister Monica Joan, who'd become visibly frailer in the month since the young woman's funeral, while the lines around Sister Julienne's eyes were deeper than they'd been ... before.

Even practical, rational Phyllis Crane could not bear to use 'death' or 'dead' in connection with Barbara. Not Barbara, their good, kind, Barbara. Barbara was not dead. She'd simply ... gone away. To Birmingham, perhaps. Or Newcastle; Phyllis remembered Trixie saying the Bishop wanted to send Tom Hereward there. That was it. Barbara had simply gone ahead, getting the house ready before Tom came. Or she was looking for a job; the slums in Newcastle were little better than those of the East End, and Barbara's skills would be sorely needed.

The illusion usually lasted until she next saw Tom cross the courtyard that lay between his house and Nonnatus, his shoulders more bent with every day that passed. Or stood before the on-call board where 'Nurse Hereward' could still be read, despite repeated attempts to remove it. Even her own wardrobe betrayed her. She'd told Barbara she would borrow a suit for the Herewards' wedding, but the younger woman had insisted she buy something new, and accompanied Phyllis to choose it. What a day that was ... almost as much fun as choosing Barbara's wedding gown. And now that suit hung limply amongst her sensible skirts and blouses, as lifeless as the beloved girl for whom it was worn.

It was usually at this point that Phyllis would seek to find something—anything—to do. Anything that would allow the black dog to loosen his claws on her, just for a little while, and today was Sunday, when everyone would gather in the kitchen for dinner. Until now she'd studiously avoided those Sunday gatherings, unable to bear the pall of sorrow that hung over the house, but Trixie's return earlier that week marked a change. Phyllis found some of the weight on her soul lifted when laughter was heard through Nonnatus House once again; laughter that was occasionally forced and even false, but at least it was _there_. Everyone knew moving on was painful, but it was better than being stuck in a rut of sadness, wheels churning in the mud of grief.

The little clock by her bed ( _do not think about that first night with Barbara, Phyllis. Do not think about demarcating lines_ ) struck noon, and she stood, pulling her cardigan around her shoulders. It might be nearly spring but it was still cold outside, and Nonnatus was never cosy at any time. A deep breath and a pasted smile that hurt her cheeks, and she was ready, walking with her usual briskness down the corridor to the stairs. Voices floated up, proclaiming that everyone was back from church, and she allowed the smile to broaden as she began her descent.

And came to a crashing halt on the landing when she stumbled into a scene she'd seen a hundred times, but never before with this shaft of pain.

The front door was open. The Turner family had obviously just arrived; Dr Turner and Shelagh were still wearing their coats, although young Timothy had already shrugged out of his.

'—wonderful to see you, my dear,' Sister Julienne was saying, taking Shelagh and baby Teddy into a comprehensive hug whilst Dr Turner stood smiling behind his wife.

'We were only away ten days,' Timothy pointed out, truculent as any fifteen-year-old.

'Ten days too long, Master Turner!' Sister Monica Joan put in, one hand taking the young man's wrist in order to pull him in the direction of the kitchen (doubtless hoping for cake). Phyllis could hear them talking as they went, but her attention was focused on someone else.

The Turners' adopted daughter, to be precise.

Small Angela was standing between her mother and Sister Julienne, tugging at the nun's habit to gain her attention. When Sister Julienne crouched by the child the little girl flung herself forward, chubby arms wrapping tightly around the older woman's neck and curly head scrubbing into her shoulder.

'Easy, Angela,' Dr Turner cautioned. 'You don't want to strangle Sister, do you?'

Still held in the nun's embrace, his daughter twisted to grin at him. 'I missed her so so much!'

'And I missed _you_!' Sister Julienne informed her with one of her twinkling smiles as she regained her feet with the smooth grace that Phyllis always found herself envying. They weren't _that_ far apart in age. She held out a hand and the child took it. 'Now, shall we go to my office to see what's waiting there?'

Angela swung gleefully on her hand. 'Just us, Sister?'

'Just us,' Sister Julienne confirmed with a conspiratorial smile, and Phyllis's throat constricted at the look of adoration the little girl gave in response.

'You spoil her, Sister,' Shelagh remonstrated gently, and the older woman glanced at her.

'Of course I do. I have only this one namesake!' They exchanged a look of deep affection and the invisible noose about Phyllis's throat tightened; that look so clearly said _What else are grandmothers for?_ Sister Julienne leaned forward to brush baby Teddy's cheek with a forefinger. 'Now go to the sitting room and rest, both of you; you look tired. I'm sure someone will look after Teddy.'

'You mean, he'll be snatched away and we won't see him again until it's time to go,' the doctor corrected wryly, but Phyllis didn't miss the small nod of gratitude he sent the nun. 'Come on, sweetheart. Let's make hay, eh?' He ushered Shelagh and his son after Timothy and Sister Monica Joan, leaving only Sister Julienne, Angela, and a stricken but as yet unseen Phyllis in the hall.

Sister Julienne chose that moment to look up, her gaze meeting Phyllis's, and Phyllis suddenly understood why the younger nurses hated being called into the Sister-in-Charge's office. Her eyes were kind and far, _far_ too knowing for Phyllis's comfort, as though the other woman could read thoughts and feelings she'd not even acknowledged to herself. She did not stop; Angela was chattering away, but she did give Phyllis a single nod as she passed and Phyllis watched them disappear towards the office, a slender figure in blue and white and her tiny companion, dancing pink against the panelled wood.

She felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. Breathing hurt. Her eyes stung from the longing to weep, but Phyllis Crane didn't do tears unless they absolutely insisted on being shed, and she hadn't reached that point, not yet.

She wanted to scream and rail against a God she didn't believe in for taking—for _stealing_ —her Barbara, and Barbara's future and

... Barbara's children.

 _Hell's teeth, woman. Now you've done it._

Slowly, she turned, everything aching as though she'd aged ten years in as many minutes. It took every bit of war-won grit she possessed to lift one foot in front of the other, pushing herself painfully up the stairs. Climbing them had never taken so long before, even with her bad back; her hand on the widely-carved bannister trembled and she couldn't get a grip.

She leaned against the wall the whole way to her room, unspeakably glad that Val would undoubtedly keep Lucille occupied for the duration. When the door was safely shut all the stiffness went out of her and she slid down it, hands clapping over her mouth, one across the other, as though to catch the howl that wanted to come, that still escaped in the form of barely muted whimpers.

Watching Sister Julienne with the Turners had ripped off the plaster she'd so carefully applied over the heart-wound caused by Barbara's loss. The wound that went beyond Barbara's death alone, encapsulating the quiet hope she'd so carefully avoided substantiating by deliberate thought or feeling, the hope that Barbara and Tom's children would one day look at her as the Turner kids looked at Sister Julienne. The hope—if she was anyone else, she would say 'prayer'—she'd remain part of their lives as a beloved friend or maiden aunt; she'd hardly dared think 'grandmother', even to herself, but her heart knew the truth ... Ever since she'd stood by Barbara on her wedding day, as dear friend and bridesmaid and sort-of-surrogate mother, she hoped for a family at last, encouraged and nourished by the young couples' obvious affection.

Now that hope lay buried like a stillborn child in Barbara's grave, and Phyllis grieved for its loss as surely as she mourned the girl who'd been friend and protégée and colleague and surrogate daughter in one.

The strength of her grief frightened her. She couldn't see through it, couldn't see past it. The young nurses had their lives before them; in time this would be a sad memory amongst other memories. The nuns had their faith, and their belief that one day they'd meet again.

But Phyllis? What did she have?

It was not a question she dared ask. There were some answers that even practical, reasonable women like herself could not bear to know.

No. She'd get over this crying jag, don her indomitable persona once again and sally forth, bowed but unbroken—at least as far as the outward world was concerned.

'I hate seeing the people I love upset,' Barbara said in their last proper conversation.

Well, in that Phyllis could honour her wishes. There was that poem Sister Monica Joan insisted on reciting until they all felt like screaming, particularly the last lines:

 _Better by far that you should forget and smile_

 _Than that you should remember and be sad._

For Barbara, Phyllis would forget and smile. Perhaps that would be her passport out of this silent land of lost love and broken dreams.

-Fin.

 ** _The poem quoted is Christina Rossetti's_ Remember Me _._**

 _ **Um. Yes. I had planned to add a lovely bit where Sister Julienne and Phyllis bond over Barbara's death, but I couldn't help thinking it would be OOC. I think these two respect each other deeply, but they're both too reserved (and, tbh, too antithetical in their world views) to find comfort in each other. Of course, if twenty people demand a follow up showing exactly that or an attempt at it, I'll happily oblige!**_

 _ **Thank you for reading, and please review.**_


	2. Forget Me For A While

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the first part of this! Someone pointed out (quite rightly)that an encounter between Phyllis and Sister Julienne could be all the more interesting** ** _because_** **it was not easy. That got me thinking, and as a result this one-shot has turned into a three-parter. Here's the second bit and the third will follow shortly.**

* * *

Some days later Phyllis was returning to Nonnatus after visiting a new mother and very much looking forward to a hot meal. It was a dreary day; rain poured down in sheets rather than drops, and she had to peer through her windscreen to see where she was going, foot hovering cautiously above the brake all the while. To this day she went cold at the memory of the incident with the Antoine boy, at how close she'd come to killing a child.

A flash of familiar blue (startling against the greyness of the day) caught her eye, but it took a second look before she was certain and then she wasted no time, immediately pressing her brake to the floor. In a matter of moments she was out, kneeling beside a sodden—and from the looks of it, rather stunned—Sister Julienne.

'Sister?'

The other woman looked up, blinking. 'Nurse Crane. I ... I must've gone over something sharp. My tyre's gone—'

'Did you come off?' Phyllis interrupted, taking in the nasty gash on the nun's cheek and her pallor.

True to form, Sister Julienne did not answer the question directly. 'I was lucky not to go over the handlebars.' She rose slowly, pain flickering across her attempt at a smile. 'I assure you, I'm perfectly all right.'

Phyllis snorted. 'Don't be ridiculous. You're not holding yourself proper and with all due respect, Sister, you look like something the cat's brought in _after_ it's spent all night playing with it. I might be overstepping the mark, but isn't it time you left the bicycle riding to the young ones?'

The nun's gentle smile remained fixed in place.

'Thank you for your concern, Nurse Crane, but I manage.'

Not for the first time, Phyllis found herself longing to shake the stoicism out of her. She nodded towards the bicycle, now looking decidedly the worse for wear.

'In that case, you'll have to find another vehicle. That one's done.'

A fine line appeared between Sister Julienne's brows as she studied the bicycle in her own turn. 'I fear you may be right. I'll ask Fred to look at it tomorrow. Hopefully he will perform his usual miracle. In the meantime, I must wheel it home—'

Phyllis couldn't let her continue.

'You'll do no such thing!' she interrupted. 'It's raining entire _zoos_ of cats and dogs. We can do without your bike more easily than we can do without _you_.' Only years of professional discretion prevented her from from snapping, _Haven't we lost enough?_ , instead finishing with a more temperate, 'Just you put that bike and yourself into my car and we'll be off home in no time.'

Rather to Phyllis's surprise, Sister Julienne did not argue. Together they hoisted the nun's bike into the boot—an awkward procedure that required both of them and nearly resulted in Phyllis letting slip oaths that were significantly fruitier than her usual _Hell's teeth_. At last it was done, and she held the passenger door for Sister Julienne, closing it once the other woman was safely ensconced inside. Her frown deepened as she returned to her own seat; she didn't like the looks of Sister Julienne at all.

Her concern was justified when Nonnatus's ever-collected Sister-in-Charge leaned against the window, one hand going to her forehead.

'Do you have concussion?'

Sister Julienne straightened, her hand dropping.

'It's just a knock, Nurse Crane. I'm sure I'll be fine after some rest.'

Phyllis gritted her teeth. She was wasting her time; getting something out of Sister Julienne would be a greater miracle than getting blood out of the proverbial stone.

 _At least, it'd be a miracle for_ me.

Her lips twitching in a carefully-hidden smirk, she turned the car away from home and headed for a house well-known to all the denizens of Nonnatus House, and to Sister Julienne most of all.

The nun's stare was reproachful. 'Nurse Crane—'

'You need looked at,' Phyllis insisted, ignoring that reproachful stare (she was made of sterner stuff than the young nurses) and getting out of the car before Sister Julienne could protest further. The keys were left dangling in the ignition; Sister Winifred was the only one of the sisters who could drive (after a fashion), and in any case she doubted Sister Julienne was physically capable of making a break for it.

Their presence had been noted. Even as Phyllis marched towards the front door, it was already opening, throwing a yellow shaft of light across the garden.

'Nurse Crane? Phyllis?' Shelagh came running out. 'Is there an emergency? Why didn't you—' She broke off, her eyes going wide as she spotted the car's remaining occupant, and Phyllis hastened to explain.

'Sister Julienne took a nasty tumble.' The other nurse was already at the car, opening the door and crouching (in the _rain_ , for pity's sake!) beside the patient. Phyllis followed. 'I think she's hurt worse than she's let on—to me, anyroad.'

Shelagh had pulled off her cardigan and was wrapping it around Sister Julienne as she helped the older woman out of the car, talking all the while.

'Look at the _state_ of you, Sister. Phyllis, could you get the kettle on? And let Patrick know—he's putting Teddy to bed.'

Shelagh was a good head shorter than Sister Julienne, and the nun's willingness to lean on her said all that needed to be said. Knowing she was very much a third wheel at this point, Phyllis moved to follow Shelagh's instructions and found she'd been forestalled. Dr Turner was running down the stairs as she entered, followed by Timothy.

 _Good lad_ , she thought, as the doctor passed her. _He must've overheard._ She gave Timothy a grateful nod; he could be a cheeky so-and-so, but he was a good kid.

'I put the kettle on before I called Dad,' he mouthed and she gave him a thumbs-up sign before shrugging out of her cloak. Something told her they wouldn't be getting home any time soon.

'...absolutely soaked, Sister,' Shelagh was exclaiming as she and Dr Turner ushered Sister Julienne in between them. 'How long were you out there for?'

'I'm... I'm not certain.' Sister Julienne's voice was unusually subdued. 'I punctured my wheel and ... to be quite frank, I don't remember much after that. When I regained consciousness I was on the ground, with _this_ '—she gestured towards the seeping gash on her cheek—' and my bicycle was even worse off than I was. I'd just pulled myself together and was trying to see whether the bicycle was fit to be wheeled home when Nurse Crane arrived—'

'Thank God she did!' Shelagh blurted.

The nun's answering smile reached her eyes, Phyllis noted. 'My dear, I'm a little harder to break than you or Nurse Crane seem to believe. I'll admit I'm shaken, but as I tried to tell Nurse Crane, I will be fine after some rest.'

'You mean you'll be fine after some rest for the next few days,' Dr Turner cut in. 'Don't try to argue, Sister. I'm going to stitch that cut and I want to check the blow to your head. Then you're going home to a hot bath and bed and I'll be giving instructions that you're not to stir from it until we're sure you haven't taken further harm.' He paused to add, 'It's times like this we miss Sister Evangelina. _She_ would have kept you in your place.'

Phyllis drew herself up. 'I believe you'll find I can be just as squashing as Sister Evangelina, Doctor.'

Sister Julienne's eyebrows went up. Shelagh looked torn between amusement and ... awe? The doctor laughed outright.

'I'll keep you to that, Nurse Crane. Sister, Shelagh?' He gestured towards a room at the back, and Phyllis watched them vanish into it. Timothy followed with tea before returning to hand Phyllis a well-sugared cup of her own, much to her surprise.

'Thanks, lad. I don't mind admitting I'm glad of it.'

'I thought so.' Timothy perched on the arm of the settee where Phyllis had seated herself, gangly limbs stretched in front of him. 'You're probably shocked too. It's not every day you find your boss in a heap in a puddle, is it? Especially when it's Sister Julienne!'

'She wasn't _quite_ a heap in a puddle,' Phyllis murmured, although she knew Timothy's statement could easily be the literal truth. It had been too dark to tell.

Silence descended. Phyllis sought for something to say before it became awkward; it was the least she could do in return for the boy's hospitality.

'How's school?' she asked at last.

Timothy rolled his eyes. 'Boring. Most of it's useless and I already know the stuff we do in Biology and Chem anyway. I know more than the teachers,' he added unselfconsciously, before grinning. 'I don't think _they_ read _The Lancet_.'

Phyllis grinned back. 'I should think not.' She sipped her tea. 'Is that what you want to do, medicine?'

'I've got Junior Cert and General to get through first. Dad says concentrate on those and then see—' He shrugged.

'Good advice,' Phyllis pointed out. 'A sound general education is never wasted in my view. Ah!' as the doctor and his wife returned with Sister Julienne between them, her cut neatly stitched and her cap looking distinctly lumpy, as though there was a bandage under it. Shelagh's free hand clutched a limp piece of fabric that Phyllis belatedly recognised as a veil.

'Is Sister fit to go home?' she demanded, standing. Sister Julienne's eyes were heavy, and she was paler than she'd been before.

Phyllis saw the nun's lips compress, but it was Dr Turner who spoke.

'She's patched up and ready to be turned over to you, Nurse Crane. Get her home and warm, but don't let her sleep for good few hours. Then keep her ... squashed ... for a few days. Sister, I'll pop in on you tomorrow and I'm sure Shelagh will too.'

'Naturally,' Shelagh agreed, and Sister Julienne looked from one to the other, her expression softening as she took Shelagh's hands in both of hers, a gesture Phyllis had seen many times before.

'God bless you both. Very well, Doctor, I promise I'll be good. Nurse Crane?'

Now it was Phyllis's turn to force a smile. The immediate crisis, such as it was, was over, and that infernal black dog had dug his claws in once again. She attempted her briskest self.

'I'm ready when you are.'

The journey home was a silent one.

* * *

 _I'm always amused by how much everyone fusses over Sister Julienne's health (Evangelina, Phyllis, Sister Winifred) despite the fact that she's probably the same age or younger than Evangelina/Phyllis, and apart from her collapse in S3 seems as strong as a horse. Thus this approach! The real encounter is in the next bit, though, so watch this space..._


	3. Counsel Then or Pray

**_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed! I've been amazed at the response to this story._**

* * *

 _Another hour to go_ , Phyllis thought, surreptitiously glancing at her watch as she sat by the Sister-in-Charge's bed. She'd insisted on staying with Sister Julienne to spare her being talked to death (Sister Monica Joan and Trixie), fussed to death (Sister Winifred), or simply stared at (Valerie and Lucille). _Once Compline's started, I'm off the hook._

In the meantime, she and Sister Julienne had to maintain the pretence of conversation, if only to uphold Doctor Turner's prohibition against sleep. They'd just finished discussing the garden and Phyllis was mulling for a new topic when Sister Julienne said, 'I should thank you for bringing me to Shelagh.'

'She's the doctor's wife,' Phyllis said, developing an interest in a loose thread on her sleeve. 'I brought you to the doctor.' The hanging thread was so tightly pulled it started to gather the wool. She focused on loosening the tension, plucking and tugging, until the thread snapped.

'Oh, hell's _teeth_.' She glared at Sister Julienne, as though it was her fault a hole was rapidly developing in her work cardigan. 'I'm going to have to mend this, aren't I.'

'Put it with the rest of the mending,' Sister Julienne advised, seemingly unworried. 'Someone will see to it later. You have another?'

'In my wardrobe.'

The nun nodded. 'Good.' Her pause was measured and Phyllis braced herself for whatever was coming. 'Nurse Crane, I do appreciate your bringing me to Shelagh. We both know I didn't need a doctor, not physically. You could have dealt more than adequately with my injuries yourself. However, I would be lying if I didn't confess that going there helped ... enormously.' Phyllis's eyes widened. Oh, she'd known the truth of Julienne's words, but never in a million years had she expected her to admit it openly. 'I am ... aware that our closeness must be ... difficult ... for you just now, so my gratitude is all the greater.'

Phyllis chose to ignore that last part. Instead, curiosity and the odd intimacy of the situation made her say, 'I don't pretend to know much about the religious life, but I've been surprised at how involved Mrs Turner still is in life here. I'd imagined ex-nuns would be cast out.'

Sister Julienne smiled. 'We could hardly let her go. You know short-staffed we are, and Shelagh is one of the best midwives we've ever had.' A beat. 'There was never any question of ostracising her. She was our dearly beloved sister and when she left she became our dearly beloved friend. We— _I_ —couldn't do without her.'

 _Couldn't do without her..._

All at once the noose was back and Phyllis couldn't breathe. The need to see Barbara's smiling face, to hear her voice saying 'Oh, _Phyllis_ ' in that exasperated-but-loving way of hers ...

 _I can't do without you, lass._

Grief slammed into her like a blow to the stomach, leaving her gasping, trembling, and her self-control tenuous at best. Doctor's orders or no doctor's orders, she had to get out before she disgraced herself. The empty glass on Sister Julienne's bedside table provided an excuse and she reached for it.

'I-I'll run this down—' She was shaking more than she realised, her fingers clumsy, and the glass went flying, smashing into smithereens against the polished parquet floor. Phyllis froze, one hand continuing to hover uselessly above the table while the other abused the hem of her cardigan. Her shock seemed to last an eternity; Sister Julienne's mouth was moving but nothing coming out of it made any sense. Her tummy was twisting and something had sucked out the room's oxygen. Her nurse's training told her what was happening and she made an effort to breathe, she really did, but it was just going through the motions and nothing ... was ... happening ...

'Nurse Crane.' Hands on hers. 'Breathe. Close your mouth and breathe through your nose ...'

Phyllis contemplated jerking away, but Sister Julienne's grip tightened. She made a greater effort; clearly it was the only way of dislodging the other woman, but she couldn't think—

'Nurse Crane. _Phyllis_.' Sister Julienne cupped Phyllis's face and the shock of it made her freeze. When she drew another breath she was fractionally calmer, calm enough to realise that Sister Julienne had left her bed.

' _Sister_ —'

'I'll be fine, Phyllis,' Sister Julienne said, and Phyllis blinked. The nun never used first names for anyone but Shelagh Turner. 'Now breathe, my dear. Breathe with me.'

'But—'

'In ... and out. You have to breathe, I'm not strong enough to hold you if you faint.'

'Huh,' Phyllis managed to scoff. 'If you could d-drag all those chairs around clinic that time—'

'In ... and out,' Sister Julienne repeated, gently implacable as only she could be. Phyllis scowled and obeyed, making an effort to match the other woman's rhythm. Several inhalations and exhalations later, and she was feeling sufficiently herself to step back from the Sister-in-Charge, sitting abruptly as the edge of the nun's bed caught the back of her legs.

After a moment's hesitation Sister Julienne joined her.

'Better?'

Phyllis drew another deep breath. 'Yes. Thank you, Sister. I must apologise, I—I don't know what came over me—'

'Grief, Nurse Crane—and I assure you there's no need to apologise for it.' A sidelong glance told Phyllis Sister Julienne's eyes were wet, and the brewing storm within her threatened to rise once more.

'I—'

'We all miss Barbara, but we also know she was closest to you. That was obvious when she asked you to stand in her mother's place at her wedding.' Sister Julienne's voice shook.

'How ... I was her _bridesmaid_ ,' Phyllis corrected, warmth filling her at the realisation she wasn't the only one to make that connection. A pause, then she conceded with: 'Barbara insisted.'

Sister Julienne smiled through her tears. 'Of course she did.'

All at once Phyllis couldn't stop talking.

'And I hoped that ... that one day in the not too distant future she would ask me to be her midwife, like Shelagh—'

'I'm sure she would have. You would have been honoured and thrilled and so, _so_ afraid—'

'Were you?' Phyllis asked, surprising herself. It was the closest she'd ever come to asking Sister Julienne a personal question.

'Yes. I had faith it was God's will for Shelagh and her child would thrive, but even so, given her history—' Sister Julienne stared into the past, and Phyllis guessed she was thinking of Shelagh's bout with TB. The nun bit her lower lip before saying, 'I was afraid, and I wouldn't have missed it for the world.'

'You're fortunate you didn't have to,' Phyllis said, bitterness bursting through.

'I know.' A long pause, and Phyllis was once again subject to that too-knowing gaze. 'If it would help, I could ask Shelagh to keep the children away, just for a while.'

'What good would that do?' she snapped. 'It's not fair on them, Sister. Young Angela adores you, we can see that well enough. They'd come back eventually and Barbara ... Barbara will still be gone. No, let 'em come. If it's too much for me I'll withdraw to my room. I'm sure everyone'd understand.' It was an effort to get the last words out as a wave of exhaustion crashed over her, and all at once she wanted nothing but bed. She gazed longingly at the door and Sister Julienne noticed.

'My sisters will be at Compline by now. I would like to pray alone for a while and if you don't mind my saying, Nurse Crane, you could do with some tea or Horlicks before retiring. I suggest you find whoever is on call and ask them to do you a cup. Then you may check on me _once_ more before going to bed yourself; several hours have passed and I'm feeling much improved.'

Phyllis bristled at the unspoken implication that they'd switched places, that _she_ had become the patient.

'With all due respect, I hardly think you're fit to make that judgement at this moment.'

'I could say the same of you,' Sister Julienne returned calmly and Phyllis flinched under the truth of it. She wanted to argue, to protest, to lay down the law, but four years had taught her the futility of that. Sister Julienne embodied the principle of the iron hand in the velvet glove better than anyone she'd ever met.

'We'll have to agree to disagree on that one.' It was a poor attempt at her usual doughtiness and the soft look Sister Julienne sent showed she knew it. Phyllis awaited her usual flare of indignation, and was numbly surprised when it failed to come.

And of course that infernal nun knew that too. Sister Julienne smiled.

'Rest as well as you can, Nurse Crane, and remember we still have each other. There will always be a home and family for you here at Nonnatus House.'

Gently given though it was, that was a clear dismissal and Phyllis was too done to argue further. Wearily, she extracted herself from Sister Julienne's room and headed blindly downstairs, her steps heavy on the polished oak. The younger nurses did not need Sister Julienne's instructions; they took one look at her face and went into collective action, ushering Phyllis into a comfy chair by the fire and providing her with Horlicks, a slice of cake Trixie had hidden from Sister Monica Joan, and the heart-balm of their affection and concern.

Soothed by the familiar sounds of the girls' chat and laughter, Phyllis allowed herself to relax, her lids falling shut. It was not too much of a stretch to imagine she heard Barbara's voice amongst them, that the clock had somehow turned back and all was as it should be. That her family, the family she'd chosen for herself, still existed.

'Should we wake her?' someone—Valerie?—said through the mists of oncoming sleep. 'She'll be awfully sore in the morning if she stays there all night.'

Gentle hands arranged the blanket so that she was covered from shoulders to ankles. 'Leave her. She was with Sister Julienne, wasn't she? If she'd wanted to sleep she would have gone straight to our room. She did not want to be alone.' That was Lucille.

'She's _not_ alone,' a third voice said and Phyllis recognised Trixie. 'She'll never be alone as long as she has us. People come and go from Nonnatus all the time, they get married, travel the world, even become nuns themselves, but they're still part of our family. They're still Nonnatuns.'

Some of the ache in Phyllis's heart eased. She would never cease to mourn Barbara, her loss a rent hole in the fabric of her life that could never be mended, but she was coming to see that just as she'd chosen Barbara so had others chosen her.

 _There will always be a home and family for you here at Nonnatus House_ , Sister Julienne had said. Phyllis had brushed it off as a one of the nuns' eternal platitudes, but after listening to Trixie's fierce claiming of her, of them all, as Nonnatuns, she realised she'd done the Sister-in-Charge an injustice.

It was not a platitude. It was a promise.

Too exhausted to think further, she let go.

Sheltered, warmed and cocooned, the indomitable Phyllis Crane fell asleep in the bosom of her family.

 _Fin_

(For real, this time)

* * *

 _I've struggled with this third section for weeks, so I hope it passes muster. I'm not entirely happy with it even yet, but I can't tinker forever and I didn't want people to think I'd abandoned this story when I promised three parts. Thanks for reading and reviewing, and please let me know what you think._


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